Chasing Daylight
by DisplayDiva
Summary: Sometimes it takes a miracle to realize what you truly need. For Remus Lupin and Penelope Clearwater, it may take more than that. [Written about a year ago and posted in my LJ but never here because I'm a lazy bum]
1. Your Mistake

In retrospect, Penelope would realize that the only mistakes had been her own.

The problem was that she'd spent so much time taking the easiest path, trying not to disappoint anyone, trying not to be a mistake that she'd allowed her own mistakes to slip by. All of her intentions to be good, to be great, had ended with the realization that she hadn't _been_ a mistake, and she hadn't _made_ a mistake for anyone other than herself.

It had all started with Percy.

"The Ministry would be an excellent choice for someone of your caliber," he'd told her so many times, so after graduation, that was where she applied, straight away. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement snapped her up immediately, and within the month, she was an employee of the Ministry of Magic.

Within two weeks, she was thoroughly dissatisfied. Percy had spoken so highly of the Ministry that she'd been ecstatic to become a part of it, but now that she _was_ part of it, she couldn't help but wonder what Percy was thinking. Granted, he'd spent the last year in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, while she'd just joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but she still thought that he'd have to be absolutely mad to fully subscribe to the Ministry's general policies.

"It's the right way," Percy insisted, when she questioned him. "You're either with us, or with You-Know-Who."

She believed him, or at least tried to, because she wasn't about to be a mistake. And she _was_ on his side, because she certainly wasn't against him.

"I don't think there's just two sides," Oliver Wood said, when she confided in him. He'd been Percy's best friend at Hogwarts, which had eventually made him her friend as well, and the most logical choice to discuss Percy and the Ministry. "You said yourself that the Ministry hates Dumbledore, these days. And obviously _he's_ not with You-Know-Who, so maybe it's not as simple as right as wrong."

"Maybe not," she replied softly. "But even if it's not that simple, there _is_ a right decision somewhere, and I don't think I've made it."

"I don't think you've made _any_ decision, Penelope." He smiled at her, with a tinge of sadness that she could clearly see, even if she couldn't place its origin. "But when you _do_ choose, I think you'll choose well enough."

* * *

"We're a good match, Penny," Percy said, when she asked one night what he thought of her, of them. "You love the Ministry as much as I do."

"I like the Ministry, as a job. That doesn't mean I subscribe to every one of its policies."

"What's there not to subscribe to, Penny?" he asked, looking positively aghast at her statement. "Fudge is a brilliant leader, and we're lucky to have him."

The subtext of that statement, of course, was that they were lucky to have Fudge as Minister of Magic, instead of Dumbledore. Penelope tried not to look overly offended by that insinuation. "Well, I suppose you would know, Percy," she said carefully.

"I _do_ know. I _am_ Junior Assistant to the Minister, after all."

When Percy pulled job titles into the discussion, she knew it was time to drop the subject. She'd learned at least that much, from nearly three years as his girlfriend. As much as she trusted Dumbledore, and as leery as she was of Fudge, it wasn't worth a fight with Percy, right now. She'd just started at the Ministry, and the last thing she wanted was to incur anyone's wrath.

On some level, she knew that while she loved Percy, she couldn't possibly subscribe to all of his ideals. At some point, she'd have to choose between her boyfriend and her beliefs—and she knew she _would_ have to choose, because he'd already walked away from his family. She couldn't possibly be treated any differently.

"I don't mean to fight with you, Penny. It's just that I thought you'd understand how important this is to me," he said softly, and she _did_ understand, because it _was_ important to him, and she loved him. And she never once stopped to think that she was suddenly putting his needs ahead of her own.

It wasn't _about_ her needs, anyway. Not then. It was about not being a mistake.

* * *

"But you're _not_ a mistake," Oliver said. "You never _could_ be."

"I _could_ be, if I ruined Percy's career for him," she protested quietly. "He'd never forgive me. I should just leave now, so I'm not sacked later."

"I honestly don't see why you're still there, especially when you don't even _like_ it. How many times have they asked you to apply for Auror training, and you've refused?"

"Last Thursday was the seventh time," she said, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. She shrugged. "Kingsley Shacklebolt is determined to see me as an Auror, but…I just don't know."

"Well, if you're not happy where you are, and you're not interested in advancing…" He shrugged. "I don't think there's any shame in deciding it's just not right for you."

"But you—"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Can you honestly see me _not_ playing Quidditch? Look, if you're seriously unhappy with the Ministry, I can always have my mum put in a good word for you at Dust and Mildewe. You'd be perfect for it."

"Well, you can't just _leave_ your job, can you?" Publishing _did_ sound infinitely more appealing than anything in the Ministry ever had, but—

"Penelope, are you sure you're not just staying at the Ministry because you don't want to lose Percy?" he asked, with such genuine concern that she just wanted to throw her arms around him and unload all of her concerns. Instead, she settled for a simple nod. "Are you sure you haven't already lost him? He's not the same as…"

"I know," she murmured, really _looking_ at him for the first time, and realizing that she wasn't the only one losing someone. "I'm sorry, Oliver."

"So am I," he whispered, and then he kissed her.

It was sudden, and unexpected, and not at all unpleasant—and it took her a few minutes to realize just what she was doing, and a few seconds after _that_ to stop. "This is wrong," she said somewhat breathlessly, as she pulled away. "This is…it's just wrong."

"The whole world is wrong, Penelope. But you can't deny this is the best you've felt since June." He kissed her again, and she didn't resist, because he was right, and she _couldn't_ deny it.

It was an odd sort of comfort as she lay with Oliver that night, in an embrace stronger and more secure than Percy's had ever been. She didn't love Oliver, and he didn't love her—or rather, they _did_ love each other, but only as friends, and anyway, it was Percy who bound them together.

But Percy wasn't there, and even when he was, he wasn't the same. It was his fault, anyway, Penelope realized later. Percy, intentionally or not, had put a growing hole into each of their hearts, and they were the only ones who understood what it meant. The Weasleys had the entire family to fall back on, but Penelope and Oliver only had each other.

* * *

They only had each other, and only for that night. The next morning, it was over, and they acknowledged it wordlessly, instinctively aware that they didn't need to discuss it. Then Oliver gave her a hug, kissed her forehead, and sent her off to confess to Percy.

"Well, _that's_ no surprise. I honestly thought you'd have been shagging before now," Percy said, almost tiredly, when she told him. Then he made a great show of shuffling a stack of Ministry parchments. "And have you gotten past this ridiculous allegiance to Dumbledore, or do I have to write you off as a mistake, like my father?"

In a moment of stunning clarity, Penelope realized that the mistakes she was so afraid of _being_ had kept her from seeing the mistakes she was _making_, and the things she was so afraid of losing, she'd in fact already lost. "There's no allegiance I'd rather have than one to Dumbledore, Percy," she said quietly, then turned on her heel and walked away from him.

She left the Ministry that day, and in doing so, she left behind her job, her boyfriend, and her future security. But she also left behind the lies and pretenses she'd had to construct since she'd started work there.

And most importantly, she left behind her mistakes.


	2. Come Around

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore had said, and even though Sirius had only left his home two weeks before, Remus went there immediately. And not a moment too soon, it seemed, because Sirius was already making his presence known, stomping through the halls like a great angry monster.

"I hate this place," he said, without preamble or even the semblance of a greeting. "Bloody haven for the Dark Arts."

"Well, that's where I'll be of service," Remus said quietly. "It's a noble thing you're doing, you know. For the Order."

"Well, this _is_ the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black," Sirius muttered, gesturing vaguely to a tapestry on the wall. Then he turned, looked at Remus for the first time, and smiled. "Hello, Remus."

"Hello, Sirius." It was almost as if they hadn't seen each other in years, he thought vaguely. "You look awful."

"Can't have changed _that_ much in two weeks, can I? Besides, youdon't look much better." He eyed Remus' graying hair. "They make potions for that, you know."

Lupin looked down at his threadbare robes, wondering how Sirius could possibly assume he had money to spend on his appearance. It honestly wasn't worth the effort to argue, though, not now. "So you've been here all alone, then?"

"I have," Sirius replied quietly, in a tone Remus hadn't heard in years. Not since seventh year, in fact, when Lily had finally returned James' affections, and James had unwittingly shut Sirius out in the cold, and Remus had been there to comfort him. "Remus…"

The word had barely died on his lips, and already Remus knew what was coming next. "Because you're lonely, Sirius?"

"No. Because I love you."

That was all it took. That was all it had ever taken, really, because he loved Sirius so deeply that he could never express it in words beyond "I love you," and he allowed himself the illusion that the same held true for Sirius. Remus wasn't James, never would be—but it had never _been_ Sirius and James, not the way it had been Sirius and Remus. And now that James was dead, and Peter had betrayed them all, it was still Sirius and Remus, just like it had always been, only not at all like it had always been.

"I know he's not coming back," Sirius said, in response to the question Remus hadn't dared to ask. "I know. And I can handle that. Just so long as _you're _coming back, Remus."

Remus blinked. "I'll always come back. I just didn't know it meant so much to you."

And he _hadn't_ known, because Sirius had always cared more for James. _Everyone_ had cared more for James, except for Remus, who'd loved Sirius, devoted himself heart and soul to Sirius, but had never believed that Sirius could do the same.

But Sirius _could_ do the same, and if that wasn't evident in his touch, it was in his words. "You think I'm still waiting for something better?" he asked, and then laughed softly. "I'm not, Remus. How could I, when all I've ever wanted is standing right in front of me?"

"You always wanted more time."

"And you always waited for me, didn't you? You always waited for me to come around."

Remus nodded. "And you always did."

"And you always hoped that I wouldn't have to," he murmured, brushing his knuckles lightly over Remus's cheekbone. "I shouldn't have had to come around. I should have been here all along."

And in the instant that their lips touched, it all changed. Gone was the neediness, the heartache, the bittersweet aftertaste. Gone were the thoughts of others, the worries that this might not happen again. It was Sirius and Remus, just like it had always been, only not at all like it had always been.

It was better.


	3. One Love

Life with Sirius was just what life with Sirius should have been, what Remus had always wanted it to be. Aside from the very pressing urgency of Voldemort and the claustrophobic atmosphere of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, it was just they way he'd expected; at home with Sirius it was all sunshine and laughter and love, with Sirius dreaming up crazy schemes and Remus pulling him back down to earth.

The book was one of those crazy schemes, although it was Remus who'd started that. He'd been working on it for the past year, as employment was especially scarce for a known werewolf, and he'd had little else with which to occupy his time. It was finished, now, and it was good, but he'd never given more than a passing thought to publishing it.

Sirius had sent the owls, attaching samples of the manuscript to letters addressed to a dozen publishers. Ten rejected it immediately, and Remus promptly forgot that the book had ever existed.

In November, after the full moon, he vaguely remembered Sirius shoving a stack of parchment into his hands. Remus, still in a stupor owing to the after-effects of the Wolfsbane Potion, had signed it without even bothering to read it, and he'd never thought to ask after it later.

He never gave it a second thought, in fact, until after the New Year, when he returned to number twelve, Grimmauld Place after a late night guarding the corridor at the Department of Mysteries, and Sirius met him downstairs for a cup of tea and said, "Don't forget your meeting tomorrow."

Remus stopped, the teacup inches from his lips. "Meeting?"

"Don't be daft, Remus. You have a meeting at Dust and Mildewe, tomorrow afternoon. Don't tell me you've forgotten."

He hadn't forgotten, technically, because he'd never known it in the first place. "What does Dust and Mildewe want with me?"

"Are you _serious_?" He looked as if he might explode. "They want to publish the book, Remus! You've already signed the contract—back in November, remember?'

So _that_ was what he'd signed. Typical Sirius, always waiting until Remus was at his least competent. "So what if I don't want to publish it?"

"Of course you want to publish it!" Sirius exclaimed, and Remus had a feeling that if it hadn't been quite so late, Sirius might have vaulted over the table and tackled him. "You've been jobless since you left Hogwarts, and you won't let _me_ support you. The least you could do is buy yourself some new robes."

It seemed to Remus a frivolous reason to publish a book, but Sirius already had that gleam in his eye, and he knew that gleam meant that Sirius would _not_ be distracted from this scheme. And it was that reason, more than anything else, that made him agree to the meeting.

* * *

Penelope had been working at Dust and Mildewe for three months when the manuscript landed on her desk, accompanied by a note from Landon Davies. _This manuscript belongs to a very good friend of mine,_ it read. _Please take extra care with it._

Notes from the boss were rare, already, and notes requesting a new editor to work on the manuscript of a "very good friend" were even rarer. Penelope was thrown enough by the request that she never thought to look at the book's author, nor did she stop to consider how many people—and how many friends of Landon Davies, rumored ally of Dumbledore—could write a legitimate, well-researched Defense Against the Dark Arts text.

So it was a surprise when, one Thursday morning, Remus Lupin walked into Dust and Mildewe—and then into Penelope's office. "Ah, Miss Clearwater," he said, as she rose to greet him. "It's lovely to see you again."

"And you, Professor," she murmured.

He smiled. "Well, I'm glad you haven't forgotten me."

She remembered him, of course, and not solely as that Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who'd turned out to be a werewolf. She remembered his knowledge, and his teaching practices, and the fact that he'd been the most competent Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor she'd had in her seven years at Hogwarts. And she remembered that she'd often felt too inferior to even _talk_ to him.

That was how she felt at Dust and Mildewe—she, not even twenty years old, couldn't possibly hold court with someone like Remus Lupin. True, he'd been forced to resign from his last job, and as a werewolf, he generally wasn't accepted in most polite society. But as a Muggle-born, she wasn't exactly high society, and she'd destroyed her first career just as effectively as someone else had destroyed his last.

Still, it shocked her when he spoke to her as an equal.

"Good morning, Miss Clearwater," he'd say quietly, when he reached her office each day, and she'd inevitably stare dumbly at him for a few seconds before she remembered to speak.

"Good morning, Professor Lupin," she'd finally reply, never remembering to call him Remus, as he'd once requested—or more appropriately, never feeling comfortable enough to call him by his first name.

He'd stare at her for just a second longer than necessary before clearing his throat. "Right, then. Where do we start today?"

It was a safe, stable routine they'd fallen into, and both of them found some sort of comfort in the familiar exchange of words. They were both creatures of habit, after all, and any routine, even a slightly awkward one, was a benefit.

Remus, for his part, never noticed Penelope's awkwardness—if it could even appropriately be called awkwardness. She moved and spoke with such a quiet, fluid grace that he'd have been hard-pressed to find anything awkward about her. Not that he was looking for awkwardness, of course; he was much more interested in determining why, exactly, Davies had given him _this_ editor.

She was young, yes, and she'd worked for the Ministry, but she was brilliant, and she'd had enough wits about her to get out of the Ministry while she still could. He remembered her as an exceptional student in his NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts course, and it seemed that she remembered him, as well—and not simply as the poor teacher in the shabby robes who'd turned out to be a werewolf.

Penelope was a breath of fresh air, to be certain, but he didn't allow himself to think of her as more than that.

* * *

Three weeks after Remus had first walked into Penelope's office, the full moon returned.

Although they'd never actually discussed it, Penelope had assumed that the editing process would simply come to a halt for a few days, so it was a bit of a surprise when a young woman with short platinum hair wandered into her office and asked for Remus Lupin's editor.

"That's me," Penelope replied, half-rising from her chair as she extended a hand for the woman to shake. "Penelope Clearwater."

"Tonks. Pleasure to meet you; Remus has told me so much about you."

Well, _that_ was a surprise, and judging by the unmasked adoration in the woman's eyes, she expected a similar response. "And you—you work with him?"

"In a manner of speaking," Tonks replied vaguely. Then she leaned back in her chair and propped combat-booted feet up on the edge of the desk; Penelope just barely restrained herself from commenting. "Bloody miserable job, most days, but the company's excellent."

"I can imagine," Penelope murmured. "Now, should we—"

Before she could finish, Tonks toppled over with a small cry. She slid out of her fallen chair and grinned up at Penelope's shocked face. "Sorry—bit clumsy. Surprised no one's told you."

"Oh…well..." How exactly was she supposed to say that Remus had never once mentioned Tonks? "I—er. We don't talk much about…well, about anything that's not the book, really."

It was an outright lie—in the past week alone, they'd discussed literature, history, their families, and why Penelope would never return to the Ministry—but Tonks seemed to buy it. "The book! Almost forgot. Remus sent his revisions of Chapter Three—" She broke off and shoved her hand into one of the outer pockets of her robes. "No, not there…I _know_ I had—ah! There it is!" she exclaimed, producing the parchment from somewhere inside her robes. "There you are, Clearwater. And _do_ have a lovely day."

And with that, she Disapparated, leaving a mildly confused Penelope staring the chair Tonks had just vacated. "What an odd woman," she murmured as she reached for the manuscript.

* * *

"I think Tonks is shagging your editor," Sirius mused over dinner one night.

Remus choked on his wine. "You think _what_?"

"Well, if she'd not, she ought to be. Never seen her so lovestruck." He drained his own wine glass. "And all this time, I thought she fancied you."

_That _was certainly a surprise, as Remus had never thought himself the type to be fancied by—well, by anyone besides Sirius, really. Even more surprising, though, was Sirius's first announcement. "You think Tonks is shagging Penelope, you said?"

Sirius laughed, a bit too harshly to be considered fully natural. "Penelope, is it now? I thought it was just a business relationship." He shrugged. "Not that I'd know otherwise, since you never _tell_ me about your meetings."

"Well, I—" Remus stopped abruptly as he realized that he never _did_ tell Sirius about his meetings. That seemed a bit odd, really, because Sirius was the reason he's gone to Dust and Mildewe in the first place.

But when it came down to it, Penelope was the reason he'd stayed.

* * *

"I remember you," Tonks said, when she visited Penelope's office in March. "Used to work in Magical Law Enforcement, didn't you? Kingsley wanted you to apply for Auror."

Penelope nodded. "He did."

"I reckon you'd have done well enough," she mused. "Why'd you leave, then?"

Why _had_ she left? It seemed so long ago, now, a distant memory of a long forgotten past. "I suppose…well, it all came down to the fact that I wasn't happy."

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that work's not about being _happy_?"

"Of course they did," she replied. "I just didn't believe them, that's all."

Tonks grinned. "Smart girl. No wonder you left the Ministry; you're too good for them."

"_You're_ still there."

"I'm a special case. All of us are." Penelope knew, through a few conversations with Remus, that "all of us" meant the members of the Order of the Phoenix, but she didn't have time to remark on that before Tonks gasped. "Reminds me—I'm supposed to be at the Ministry now. Mind if I use your fireplace?"

Penelope shook her head, motioning to the small jar of Floo powder on her desk, which Tonks narrowly avoided toppling as she took a handful. She quickly shoved it toward Penelope, who placed a protective hand over the jar, smiling at the Auror. "So I'll see you next month, then?"

"Suppose so." She stopped in front of the fireplace and turned back to Penelope. "Unless…well, that is…"

"Yes?" Penelope asked, as Tonks trailed off hopelessly.

"D'you want to—I don't know, have a drink after work, maybe?"

She smiled. "I'd love to."

* * *

"You fancy him," Oliver said, when she met him for lunch that day. "Professor Lupin. Don't you?"

Penelope dropped her fork. "I—_what_? Don't be ridiculous, Oliver. He used to be our _professor_."

"Well, he's not anymore," he replied with a shrug. "Besides, that never stopped any of you with Lockhart, did it?"

"That's not the bloody_ point_, is it? The point_ is, _I don't fancy Remus Lupin." Maybe if she said it a few more time, even _she_ would believe it. "What makes you say that, anyway?"

"You haven't let go of that manuscript since you walked in," he replied, motioning to the parchment she'd placed carefully in her lap. "My best guess is that you fancy _someone_ connected to it, and if it's not Lupin, all that's left is that Auror who—" He stopped abruptly, the grin already in full force. "Penelope…"

"What?" she asked, in a miserable attempt at innocence. "It's not what you think."

No, but it _is_ what I've dreamed."

"Oliver!" Her face grew hot, and she _knew_ she was blushing. "Some days, I just don't know what to do with you."

"Well, if you don't know whether to kiss me or kill me—I'd say to save that kiss for your Auror, when you meet her from drinks tonight."

"How'd you…"

"It's written on your hand," he replied with a grin. "Now, I hate to run off on you, but we've got team photos this afternoon, and I'm…well, sort of essential to that. You have fun with your Auror tonight, and be safe."

"Goodbye, Oliver," she murmured, as he kissed her forehead, dropped a small pile of Galleons on the table, and left. No point in arguing that she didn't fancy Tonks, she decided. It was safer than saying she fancy Remus—because, of course, she _didn't_ fancy Remus—and Oliver had already made up his mind, anyway. And Tonks was…well, _Tonks_, all smiles, and ever-changing appearances, and an endearing sort of clumsiness. And Penelope liked her, genuinely _liked_ her.

She just wasn't sure if it was more than that.

* * *

And then, suddenly, it _was_ more than that, and although neither of them could say exactly how it had happened, they could both trace it back to that night at the Three Broomsticks.

Penelope had no idea how a few drinks at a wholly reputable establishment had led to the nearly constant presence of pink hair on her pillows and Weird Sisters t-shirts strewn about her flat, but the change wasn't entirely unwelcome. More often than not, the pink hair was attached to Tonks, and Tonks had a way of brightening a room to the point that Penelope almost didn't mind the clutter.

True, most nights she went to bed alone, but that was only because Tonks had work to do for the Order—and besides, she almost always woke up in Tonks's arms. And oddly—or perhaps not so oddly—the Auror's embrace was more secure, more _right_ than those of the men who'd previously shared her bed.

Penelope wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but she rather liked it, all the same.

"Where're you off to?" Tonks asked groggily, as Penelope slid out of bed one morning.

"I've got work," she replied, laughing softly as Tonks rolled over and sprawled across the entire bed. "And so have you, in case you've forgotten."

"Haven't forgotten," Tonks mumbled, her face smashed against the pillow. "Long night last night. You understand."

Actually, Penelope _didn't _understand. "I _might_, if I had missions to run for the Order. I don't suppose they've rethought their decision, have they?"

"Who said it was their bloody decision?"

"I thought it _was_ their bloody decision. What, have you not even addressed it with the Order?"

"Not formally, no," she replied with a groan. "General consensus, though—it's too much for you right now. You'll be more valuable later rather than sooner."

"So I can't even be _part_ of it?" Who cared that she was whining? This was far too important to _not_ whine. "And who's part of this general consensus, anyway?"

Tonks sat up and looked her straight in the eye. "Remus Lupin. Now, will you be home for dinner, or do I have to eat by myself?"

"I'll…no, I'll be home," Penelope murmured, fumbling in her bureau for a presentable set of robes. She pulled them over her head, thankful for the momentary distraction that kept her from looking at Tonks.

Of course, she missed the small triumphant smile on the Auror's lips, but that was quite beside the point.

* * *

Remus didn't mean for it to happen, but one day he ran into Tonks in the upstairs hallway of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and before he knew what he was doing, he'd cornered her. "What, exactly," he asked, "are you doing with Penelope?"

Tonks smirked. "When, exactly, did she become _Penelope_, Remus? And why, exactly, do you even _care_?"

He blinked at her. "Why _shouldn't_ I care? She's my editor, and you're my friend, and…" And why _should_ he care? Their relationship didn't affect him in the slightest, except for the fact that— "And what about the Order?"

"What _about_ the Order?" she asked irritably. "It's no different than you and Sirius. And you can't tell me she's not trustworthy, Remus. You're the one who told her about the Order in the first place."

He didn't reply, mostly because he didn't know what to say, and she stared at him for a few seconds before quietly walking past him. Just as she reached the staircase, he spoke. "Why Penelope?"

He heard her stop, but he didn't turn to face her. "She's beautiful, Remus," she said softly, and he couldn't have argued if he'd wanted to. "And besides, who's to say I can't look at her that way, too?"

The accent she'd put on her words left him unsure whether "that way" had meant the way she looked at him or the way _he _looked at Penelope. But then—_did_ he look at Penelope that way? And more importantly, why would he? She wasn't Sirius, or anything remotely resembling him. There was no possible way he—

"I suppose you don't care, then," Tonks said, and a second later he heard her heavy footfall on the stairs.

He didn't bother to correct her.

* * *

"It's a shame the _Daily Prophet_ is absolute rubbish, isn't it?" Penelope asked one day, as she and Remus worked their way through Chapter Twelve.

Remus looked up in mild surprise, and she figured that was because while they often made small talk during their meetings, discussions of actual _substance_ were rarer. "I'm sorry?" he murmured.

Or maybe it was simply that he hadn't heard her, she decided. "The _Prophet_. Awful shame it's become such a worthless rag."

"I suspect they've had trouble believing that Voldemort's returned. Can't fault them entirely, though, since the Ministry would rather ignore the obvious." He fell silent for a few seconds, then sighed softly. "If you're so dissatisfied, Miss Clearwater, why don't you do something bout it?"

She blinked. "Well, I've already cancelled my subscription, and—"

"I think you know that's not what I mean."

"I…well. How am I supposed to _do_ anything, when I haven't got the resources?" Penelope sighed heavily, then waved her wand vaguely at the door, letting it latch before she continued. "It's not as though I can join the Order, you know. You don't know what I'd give—"

"And you don't know what _I'd_ give to have you on our side," he interrupted softly. "But it's not my decision. Tonks doesn't think it's worth the risk."

"Does Tonks know I can make my own decisions? Does she know it's not fair to control me?"

"I think…I think it's not so much about control, really," he said thoughtfully. "She just doesn't want to see you get hurt. None of us do."

"So _you_ don't want to see me hurt, then?"

"I can't say I'd particularly enjoy it, Miss Clearwater."

"And yet you'd have me join the Order, anyway?" She sighed helplessly. "Why can I never have a _normal_ relationship?"

"There _are_ no normal relationships, I'm afraid," he replied with a wry smile. "We've just got to find what best suits us at the moment."

* * *

"So this—Penelope, eh?" Sirius said one night, when a particularly large portion of the Order had gathered for dinner. "I rather think I'd like to meet her."

Remus choked on his pork chop. Across the table, Tonks did the same—but thankfully, she recovered quickly. "That's a terrible idea, Sirius. I reckon she still thinks you're a murderer."

Actually, Penelope didn't think anything of the sort; Remus had told her the real story weeks back, but he refrained from commenting on that. Sirius had already latched onto the idea, and he really didn't need the encouragement.

"Why shouldn't I meet my baby cousin's girlfriend?" Sirius asked loudly. Remus wondered idly if he'd been drinking. "She's important to you—and she's Remus's editor—so why _shouldn't_ I meet her?"

"Aside from the fact that any sane person would run to the Ministry at the mere sight of you?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked. "Do you want to be sent back to Azkaban? Be reasonable, Sirius."

"I _am_ reasonable," he said. "I think Tonks is trying to keep her from me."

"And what if I am?" Tonks asked. "Did it ever occur to that maybe I want to have _something_ that's not tied to the Order?"

It would have been a reasonable excuse, were Penelope not already connected to so many members of the Order—and so many members seated around that table, to boot. As it was, not a soul believed her—not Molly, who shook her head reprovingly and began clearing the table; not Arthur, who buried his nose in the _Daily Prophet_; not Kingsley, who busied himself by wiping nonexistent scuff marks from his shoes. Remus, seated beside Sirius and directly across from Tonks, made no move whatsoever, which earned him a glare from Sirius and a pleading stare from Tonks. He suddenly found the sleeves of his robes very interesting, indeed, and proceeded to tune out the argument as well as he could.

And so Sirius and Tonks went round and round the same subject, and everyone else tried—and failed spectacularly—to ignore them, until Sirius leaned forward, a cruel smile on his lips. "But really, dear cousin," he said slowly. "I think we all know Penelope's just a poor substitute for Remus. Isn't she?"

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Tonks pushed away from the table and ran out of the kitchen, nearly colliding with the wall on her way to the door, and Remus was sure the tear streaming down her face hadn't been an illusion. "I think that was out of line," he said softly, carefully, as soon as Tonks's footsteps had died away.

Sirius exhaled, a quick puff of breath that said, plainly, that he didn't care. "What _is_ it about her, anyway?"

"Who?"

"Penelope Clearwater," he replied, and the room fell silent again. This time, though, they'd all looked immediately at Remus, and Sirius smiled triumphantly. "Surely _you_ can tell us, Remus."

Remus shrugged helplessly. "I—I don't know." And it was true; he didn't know, couldn't pinpoint what made her intriguing, and engaging, and absolutely irresistible. He only knew that she _was_. "I honestly have no idea, Sirius."

"You should," Sirius growled, and then he stomped off, once more leaving the room in an awkward, deafening silence.

Remus slept in his own room that night.

* * *

Penelope had just become absorbed in her book when a sobbing Tonks Apparated into her flat. "He—he said you're just a _substitute_," she blubbered, once Penelope had calmed her down a bit. "And I think…I think he might be right."

Penelope didn't ask who's made the observation, but that was less out of courtesy than it was because she already had a good suspicion. As for who she'd been replacing…well, that went hand in hand with the observer. "So what are we going to do?" she asked.

"What _can_ we do?" Tonks blew her nose into a scrap of tissue. "Is there even a _point_, anymore?"

So it was over, just like that. Penelope had expected as much, sooner or later; they'd never been meant to last, anyway. It was bound to eventually come to an end, and now that it had…it didn't hurt nearly as much as she'd expected. "Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

"I—" She broke off with another sob. "I don't think I want to be alone."

"You don't have to be alone," Penelope whispered, and then she took the other woman by the arm and led her to the bedroom. Tonks fell asleep almost immediately, and she slept peacefully—probably due to emotional exhaustion, Penelope figured.

Penelope herself lay awake for hours.

* * *

The fireplace in her office was more for convenience than luxury, but on mornings like that unseasonably cold and dreary Wednesday in May, Penelope couldn't help but appreciate the comfort of a cheerfully burning fire. She usually didn't give the fireplace much thought, unless she was actually _using_ it, but that day the cold, damp air had wrought itself into her bones. Upon reaching her office after her early-morning errands, the first thing she did was kneel down before the fire, peeling off her cloak as she warmed her icy hands in the heat radiating from the flames.

And then the fire acquired a face.

Penelope shrieked and jumped away, moving so quickly that she lost her balance entirely and landed awkwardly on her right hip, her robes tangled about her legs. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and gaped at the face in the fireplace. "Sirius Black?"

"Good memory, I see. How long since my photo was last in the _Prophet_?" He grinned. "Or—wait, you'd have seen Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, eh? Law Enforcement _was_ your department, before you escaped the Ministry?"

"What are you _doing_ here?" she hissed, oddly less concerned by the fact that an escaped convict had found her fireplace than by the fact that said convict could be _caught_ in her fireplace. "Someone could see you!"

Sirius laughed. "And who would patrol the Dust and Mildewe fireplaces? Landon Davies hasn't raised nearly enough suspicion for that." His expression hardened. "You'd feel safer if they _were_ patrolled, I imagine. Can't be safe, having a convicted murderer in your fireplace."

"Oh, honestly. I know you're innocent," she snapped.

The next instant, she wished she hadn't. His expression closed off, becoming completely unreadable, and he laughed hollowly. "You _know_ I'm innocent? What, a single word from Remus Lupin, and you forgot everything the Ministry led you to believe?"

She didn't answer—couldn't answer, really, because while it sounded completely ludicrous, that was exactly what had happened. Granted, it had been a _few_ words rather than just one, but that was quite beside the point. The point _was_ that, as Sirius had said, she believed Remus more readily than she'd ever believed the Ministry. And while her silence had already said volumes, she nonetheless felt compelled to change the subject. "What do you want from me, Mr. Black?"

"Remus. Is he all right, do you reckon?"

She blinked. "Rem—Professor Lupin? I think you'd be better equipped to answer that. I haven't seen him in days."

"Days?" His eyebrows had shot up momentarily, but he composed himself quickly. "So you've finished your editing?"

"Last week," she replied. "Didn't he tell you?"

"He'll tell me when he sees fit," he said gruffly. "Thank you for your time."

"Of course. It's…it's no trouble at all," she murmured, as his face faded from view. She stared at the fireplace for a moment longer before she straightened and crossed the office to her desk. "Well, that was…odd," she murmured, as she sat down and began to sort through her morning post.

"Penelope, are you in love with him?"

Sirius's second appearance in the fireplace came as less of a surprise—although the question he asked was enough to make her gasp. "I—_what_?"

"Right, just asking," he said brightly. Then, without another word, he disappeared, leaving her to wonder why he'd asked such a preposterous question.

But if it was so preposterous, why _had_ he asked? And more importantly, why did she even care?

* * *

Six weeks to the day after Sirius and Remus had stopped speaking, Snape made contact with the Order, bringing the bone-chilling news that Harry had been lured to the Department of Mysteries.

"If he thinks I'm staying behind…" Sirius growled.

"You _are_ staying behind," Kingsley said firmly. "Someone has to—"

Sirius slammed his palms down on the kitchen table, and both Tonks and Remus jumped. "I _will not_ sit back and _wait_ when Harry's in danger!"

Kingsley looked helplessly at Remus, who could only shrug. "There's no point in trying to stop him, you know. He'd just go anyway, and I can't say I'd blame him at all."

Sirius, for the first time in over a month, met Remus's gaze. "Thank you," he mouthed, and Remus smiled in return.

They didn't have time to talk, of course, but in the rush to leave number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Sirius pulled Remus to him and kissed him roughly. "I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too," Remus replied. "We'll talk about this later?"

Sirius grinned. "Couldn't stop me if you tried." He kissed Remus once more, and then he was gone, and Remus took just a second to smile stupidly to himself.

It wasn't perfectly all right yet, but it would be soon. And that was the best he could hope for.


	4. Best I'll Ever Be

Remus's life had been so marked by loss that in theory, one more should have made much difference. Lily and James, Peter, Alice and Frank Longbottom, Cedric Diggory…after so much, it should have been old hat.

In theory.

In practice, though, things were different and losing Sirius hit him harder than any loss he'd ever suffered—including the first time he'd lost Sirius. But back then, it hadn't been nearly so painful. Or maybe it had, and he just hadn't realized it. Maybe the pain of betrayal had overshadowed any pain of loss.

Or maybe he'd sensed on some level that that loss wasn't forever.

But this loss _was_ forever—he knew it deep in his heart—and since nothing would change that, there was no point in hoping otherwise. There was no point in lamenting that he'd lost Sirius before they'd had a chance to truly reconcile, no point in lamenting that Sirius had died as a wanted man. There was no point in anything, anymore.

"D'you think he's all right?" he heard Tonks ask Kingsley Shacklebolt one day, as he shuffled past the Aurors on his way into an Order meeting. He didn't hear Kingsley's answer, but he could imagine it well enough—_No, I don't think so. He's looked so lost ever since…_

Slowly, things began to look brighter—not especially bright, but bright enough that he could at least pretend to function like a normal person. Bright enough that he could leave the house, if he had to, and even perform a few undemanding duties for the Order.

But still Remus spent his nights alone, in the room he'd used for months now, trying to forget he'd ever shared a bed with Sirius under that same roof. In his sleep, though, the memories flooded back to him, and night after night his dreams replayed scenes of their life together, from the first happy moments to the bitter end.

"_This is heaven, isn't it?" Sirius asked, as he rolled over onto his back and dropped his head into Remus' lap. "Not an exam in sight, and—"_

"_We've got one tomorrow," Remus, interrupted softly, readjusting the Charms textbook he'd been holding so Sirius's hair didn't obscure the words._

"_You're blocking my view."_

"_Of what, the sun?" Remus laughed. "You're impossible."_

"_And you're lovely." He reached up and grabbed Remus behind the neck, pulling the other boy's lips down to meet his. "Promise me you'll always be mine."_

"_For as long as you'll have me, Sirius."_

"_Forever, then?"_

_Remus smiled, finally allowing the Charms book to fall from his hands, into the grass at his side. "Forever," he murmured, leaning down to kiss Sirius again._

_But before he could, the sky turned black, and the Hogwarts grounds faded away. And there was Sirius, imprisoned falsely, and Remus, alone, lost and betrayed. And then, quick as it had gone, the sunlight returned, and they stood together once more._

_And then Sirius, without warning, fell—fell in slow motion, a horrifyingly graceful sawn dive, and for a second the world fell silent—and then Bellatrix was screaming in triumph, and Harry was screaming in anguish, and it was all Remus could do to hold on, his sanity hanging by a thread. And then—_

Remus awoke with a gasp, his heart racing and his shirt soaked through with sweat, and slowly, shakily, breathed a sigh of relief. One less night he'd have to dream of Sirius, now. One less night he'd have to feel his heart break all over again.

It wasn't until after the full moon, weak and still shaking from the after-effects of both this transformation and the Wolfsbane Potion, that he dared return to the room he'd once shared with Sirius.

It still smelled like Sirius, still _felt_ like Sirius, and he barely had time to close the door behind him before he fell to his knees. "Oh, Sirius, I miss you," he whispered, the last word breaking off with a sob, and only then did the tears fall.

They were the first tears he'd cried for Sirius, and once they started, he couldn't have stopped them if he'd wanted to. He just dragged himself to the bed and collapsed there, clutching at the pillows as he breathed the familiar scent. This was home, this was where he'd always belonged—and this was going to fade all too soon.

And he'd have to face the world alone.


	5. Life Got in the Way

There were people in his life that Remus honestly never expected to see again, and for a while, Penelope was one of those people.

Seeing her again, then, was a surprise, though not an entirely unpleasant one. To be honest, it was entirely _pleasant_, as the mere sight of those dark curls falling on her blue robes caused his heart to leap in a way it hadn't done in months.

He didn't know what possessed him to push through the crowded street toward her, but suddenly there he was, tapping her on the shoulder and saying, "Excuse me, Miss Clearwater?" as though he hadn't known who she was from the moment he'd seen her.

She turned, her eyes lighting up as her gaze fell on him—or maybe that was just a trick of the light. "Professor Lupin," she murmured, in a voice so calm that he was certain he'd imagined her momentary excitement. "This is certainly a surprise."

"A pleasant one, I hope. You're looking well."

"And you," she replied coolly, and if he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn she wasn't the same girl who'd edited his book so many months ago. "It's been months, hasn't it?"

He nodded, suddenly feeling much more awkward than the situation called for. "You—I—the book's been finished, and I—I've been busy." He didn't add that he hadn't seen her because Sirius clearly hadn't wanted it, because Sirius in those last months had been jealous and possessive and not at all tolerant of his relationship with a pretty young editor.

"I've heard about…about everything," she said softly. "I'm sorry to hear about Mr. Black."

"You didn't know him."

"I—" She stopped abruptly, and he wondered what she'd been about to say. "Well, _you_ knew him, so—my sympathies."

He didn't correct her, didn't tell her that sometimes even he hadn't known Sirius. She was better off not knowing Sirius, not knowing that he'd told Tonks that her relationship with Penelope was only a substitute for the one she couldn't have with Remus, not knowing how vicious and cruel he'd been at the end. "Thank you, Miss Clearwater," he said, hoping she'd take the hint and just leave it at that.

She did, staring oddly at him for a few seconds before she nodded curtly. "Of course, Professor. Be sure to contact Landon Davies if you have any questions about your book. Good day."

And then she left, brushing past him and into the throngs of Diagon Alley patrons, leaving him staring dumbly at the trail she hadn't quite left behind her. She'd just walked away, as if she hadn't remembered—and maybe she _hadn't_ remembered, because there hadn't been anything _to_ remember. Maybe it had been all in his mind, this girl he wanted so badly, and _still_ wanted so badly, although he'd never known quite why.

Before he could even begin to process the absurdity of that particular thought, she was standing before him again, her curls still settling about her shoulders, so he knew she actually _had_ left and returned and hadn't been staring at him the entire time. "Did you forget something?" he asked, feeling a bit foolish the second it was out; there hadn't been much to forget.

"I…" She trailed off helplessly, biting on her lower lip the way she used to when editing a particularly wordy passage. "It just seems that there's so much left unsaid, that's all."

"There's always something left unsaid, Miss Clearwater. That's the way life is."

"Your life, perhaps, but not mine." She bit her lip again, and he had to actively restrain himself from reaching out to pull the worried flesh away from her teeth. "Tonks told me, you know, that I'd just been a substitute for you. And I know she never intended for it to happen, but—but I don't know how it happened at all."

"I don't think anyone does," he said softly, valiantly ignoring the alarms sounding in his head, warning him that they were entering very dangerous territory. "But I'm not at all at all surprised that it did."

"Why not?"

The safest answer was that the book had connected them, had given them a link that could be seen as kinship. Then, of course, was the fact that they genuinely _were_ similar in personality. Either one of those responses would have been more than enough information for Penelope, and either one would be completely painless for Remus.

Of course, given a choice between two painless options, he almost always chose another option entirely, and that was ostensibly how he found himself telling Penelope about his encounter with Tonks in the upstairs hallway of number twelve, Grimmauld Place in early spring. "She told me you were beautiful, and there was no reason she couldn't look at you that way, too. I never knew quite what she meant by that."

"Didn't you?" Blue eyes bored into grey, and he had to stop and remind himself that this girl was a Ravenclaw. "Did you just not _want_ to know?"

"Something along those lines. But that's all in the past, of course, and there's no point in worrying about it."

"Of course there isn't. Just as there's no point in telling you that I used to feel too inferior to properly talk to you. Then again, I just _have_ told you, and what's done is done. It's all in the past, isn't it?"

"If you say so," he murmured. But there was so much in the past—in _his_ past—that he could never truly move beyond. James and Peter, and Sirius, and now Penelope, all just ghosts of memories, because he couldn't take the time to properly address those memories and lay them to rest.

Why he even _wanted_ to lay to rest memories of the girl standing before him, in full color, in the present, he had no idea.

But he'd figure it out. Eventually.


	6. Everybody

Roger Davies graduated Hogwarts that June, and he started at Dust and Mildewe in July. He was only there for two weeks before he decided that, previous acknowledgment of the Voldemort's presence aside, the _Daily Prophet_ was still a worthless piece of propaganda, and it wasn't doing any good for anyone outside of the Ministry.

It wasn't the first time someone _said_ anything about it, but it was the first time someone _did_ something about it.

Penelope marveled silently as he drafted plans to turn half of Dust and Mildewe into a newspaper. Not a Ministry-sponsored rag, he said, but an independent press, designed to get the truth out among the wizarding population.

This, Penelope realized, was what Remus had meant when he challenged her to _do_ something, and she felt a tinge of guilt that she hadn't thought of it sooner.

But she could do something now.

* * *

There was no reason to visit the Burrow, really, because the Weasley family had left it behind for the summer and gathered at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. But Molly had insisted, "because I just feel like something's _wrong_, Remus." Remus accompanied her, because no one liked traveling alone those days, and he'd had more than enough of number twelve, Grimmauld Place—and anyway, the Burrow was an obvious target for attacks from Voldemort's forces.

The Burrow was fine, of course, but they spent a few minutes securing the protective spells around the house before Molly sat him down at the kitchen table and started brewing a pot of tea. Remus watched her bustle noisily around the kitchen for a few minutes before he let his gaze drift out the window.

She came running through the yard to the back door, dark curls streaming behind her, and he recognized her immediately through the window. But it wasn't until Molly answered the door and said, "Oh, Penelope, it's lovely to see you," that he realized that she was _there_, and she was _real_, and she was standing directly in front of him.

"Hello, Professor Lupin," she said, and he realized with dismay that she _still _wouldn't call him by his first name. "I haven't seen you in…"

"I know, Miss Clearwater," he replied, relishing her nearly indistinguishable frown as she realized that he wouldn't call _her_ by first name, either. "What brings you here?"

For a second, he'd been sure she wanted to mention their last encounter, but at his question, her eyes lit up again, and she smiled in spite of herself. "Well, it's Roger's idea, really, but I'm doing the legwork," she began, as Molly ushered her into a seat at the table and set a teacup in front of her. "The _Daily Prophet_ is rubbish, you know, and if we're to have a successful opposition to…to…"

"Voldemort," Remus supplied quietly. "You don't have to be afraid to say it."

She glanced quickly at him, before turning her gaze to Molly and the teapot. "Right. Well, if we're to have a successful large-scale opposition, we're going to need more than the _Prophet_."

Remus sat back with his tea, watching Penelope as she explained that paper's concept to a concerned but interested Molly. Her hair shone in the sunlight that filtered in through the window, and her eyes sparkled with excitement as she explained, in those familiar melodious tones, this project into which she'd obviously already poured her heart and soul.

He didn't know when he decided to speak up, or if it was even an appropriate time to speak up, but suddenly he _was _speaking, leaning forward in Penelope's general direction. "So you've finally decided to _do_ something, have you?"

Penelope turned to him, the elation on her face already beginning to fade. "Well, it's really Roger's idea. I'm just doing the legwork, like I said."

"It doesn't matter if you _thought_it, Miss Clearwater. Your involvement means just as much, and you're obviously more than peripherally involved, so that's something to be proud of." She blushed and dropped her gaze to her teacup, and that was all the pause he allowed himself. "Do you need money?"

"We need information," she replied softly, glancing at a worried Molly. "We'll never get anywhere without the information to print."

"You'll get your information," he said softly, in the tone he'd learned so long ago to placate Sirius. To be fair, Penelope was no Sirius, but the determination in her eyes was all too familiar. "Right now, I'm asking if you need money."

"We—well, yes. Dust and Mildewe is taking enough of a risk by letting us print there. They can't afford to support us financially, too. And if we're to—"

"That won't be a problem, Miss Clearwater. Just do what Dust and Mildewe will allow you, and I'll take care of the rest." At that point Molly, who'd wisely bowed out of the conversation, threw him a questioning glance, which he ignored as he gazed at Penelope. "You wil_l_ trust me with that?"

For a split second, she looked like she might argue, but then she nodded. "I will. Thank you, Professor."

"Don't thank me. It shouldn't even be my money to give." The Burrow fell uncomfortably silent for a moment, as Molly and Penelope stared at him while clearly trying _not_ to stare at him. Remus sighed heavily. "I inherited half of his fortune, you know. It's mine, so long as I do everything I can for the Order."

"But this isn't _for_ the Order," Penelope said quietly.

Remus nodded. "I know. That's why I'm doing it."


	7. Swan Dive

"You _are_ mad," Roger said, almost daily. "You know that, don't you?"

Penelope was never sure if he was referring to the way she'd gathered her robes about her knees as she sat on the floor, or the fact that she sat on the _floor_ to write her articles, or the fact that she wrote articles for the paper in the first place. She never bothered to ask, though; she simply smiled and said, "Well, I'm not insane, am I?" before returning to her article.

It was a routine, one of many they'd fallen into, and not by accident. As long as they had routines, it was easier to believe that this was _normal_. And the more normal the situation, the less chance they had to fear it.

"_Are_ you afraid of this?" Roger asked one night as the owls left the press, laden with papers.

Penelope watched the last few owls disappear into the night before she turned to him. "Of course I'm not afraid. I'm scared, but that's not the same."

"There's a difference?"

"There's a _world_ of difference," she replied. "It's easier to be afraid. But it's easier to _do_ something if you're scared of it."

"So I suppose that means I'm scared of this," he murmured, bending his head to kiss her softly.

Well, _that_ was something Penelope hadn't expected to happen. Moreover, she hadn't expected to _like_ it, not when the last person she'd kissed was Tonks, and Roger was nothing like the Auror. But it happened, and she _did_ like it, and she was kissing him back before she even realized what she was doing.

When she finally pulled away and told him he was mad, he only laughed, and she knew this could be a very good thing.

* * *

A happy accident, he called them, and it was nice to have _some_ happiness, even of the accidental kind, in a world that often felt like it had gone completely mad.

Most times, they only had the late nights because the days belonged to Dust and Mildewe, and the evenings to the _Informer_. During their quick dinner break, someone—usually Remus, sometimes Tonks or another Order member—brought them information, and Penelope often left her food behind in her rush to turn the scraps of information into usable articles.

If Remus had brought the information, he'd more often than not stay to help her write, or at the very least edit. She couldn't help but notice, as he rolled up his sleeves to work, that his robes were as threadbare as they'd been before she'd started on his book so long ago. Surely the money he'd received from the publication could buy him a new set of robes

"I think you need to stop worrying about Remus Lupin's robes," Oliver advised her, as they sat outside Florean Fortescue's one weekend. "If you're not careful, Davies might catch onto the fact that you fancy him."

"There's nothing to catch onto," she reminded him. "Anyway, I'm not _worrying_. I just don't think he should spend so much money on the _Informer_ if he's not taking care of—"

"D'you know what that is, Penelope?" He took a bite of ice cream, then smiled smugly at her. "That's worrying. So don't tell me you're not doing it, because you are."

"Even if I am," she mumbled around a mouthful of banana split, "that doesn't mean I fancy anyone besides Roger."

Oliver chuckled. "Just keep telling yourself that, love."

* * *

"A knut for your thoughts," Roger said one night, just after they'd owled the papers.

Penelope wanted to tell him her thoughts were worth a Galleon, at least, but before she could, the truth poured out instead. "Are we in over our heads?" she asked. "Is this too much for us?"

"If it is, I still want to do it," he replied. "So long as I'm with you."

She smiled at him, then, because she didn't know what else to do. Roger was one of the best things that had ever happened to her, and she knew he loved her, even if he'd never said it out loud. He'd started the paper, but he'd let it become _her_ cause, and that sort of dedication was hard to find.

"And you with me, Penelope. That's how it should be." He smiled again, and it occurred to her that he smiled more than anyone she'd ever cared for. Perhaps that was because he had more to smile _about_. "Because I love you."

"I love you, too," she replied, almost automatically, and it wasn't until the words left her mouth that she realized she _did_ love Roger. Roger in all his optimistic idealism was worth a hundred indecisive Tonks, a thousand ambitious Percys. Roger believed what she believed, he fought for what she fought for, and he loved her.

And if the world came crashing down around her, she'd survive, as long as he was by her side.


	8. Killing Me Too

"You miss him, don't you?" Penelope asked, as she and Remus pieced together the _Informer_ one night in mid-August. "Mr. Black, I mean." And then, without really waiting for a reply, she continued. "I suppose you would. After all, I still miss Percy, and he was just _awful_ to me."

He glanced up at her, eyebrows raised. "I thought you were the one who shagged his best friend."

"Oh, well…" She shrugged. "Can't say I'm completely blameless, I suppose. But this isn't about me, Professor. How are _you_?"

"I'm…" He paused, coming slowly to the realization that he didn't have a ready answer—because since Sirius had died, he hadn't been _asked_. "I suppose I'm well enough. I think—well, the distraction's been good for me, at any rate."

She looked up from the clippings strewn about her on the floor, and for a second she looked almost childlike. Then she spoke, and all that changed. "You don't have to pretend, you know. The truth won't make me like you any less, if that's what you're afraid of."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not afraid," he lied, wondering privately how she could have so accurately pinpointed something he'd barely even noticed. "I have more important things to worry about than whether _you_ like me, Miss Clearwater."

If his words had taken her by surprise, he certainly couldn't tell from her expression. She got to her feet calmly, brushing a few stray clippings from her robes. "I can't say I entirely believe that, Professor."

"Believe what you like. It's not as though your opinion actually _matters_." What was he _saying_? And more importantly, could he put a stop to it before he said something he'd regret? "After all, it's _your_ fault Sirius died before we'd ever really made up."

It was one step too far; he knew it, and judging by the complete shock on her face, so did she. "I'm sorry; what was that?"

"It was—well, if you hadn't led Tonks on, and if I hadn't…"

"If you hadn't…_what_?" Her voice was deadly cold now, and as she stared at him, he had the sinking suspicion that this couldn't possibly end well. "If you hadn't _what_?" she repeated.

"If I…well, if I hadn't found you so bloody irresistible, it wouldn't have been an issue in the first place," he blurted out, all in a rush.

Penelope regarded him silently for a few seconds. "It seems to me that's _your_ problem," she finally said, her words slow, careful, as if they'd been perfectly weighed. "I can't see how anyone could possibly blame me."

"You wouldn't," he snapped, and his mind _screamed_ that this was exactly the wrong way to behave, that he'd hardly endear her to him by hurling insults at her, but he continued against his better judgment. "You've never had a brilliant idea in your life, have you?"

"I—"

"This isn't yours," he interrupted, gesturing wildly at the pieces of newspaper that still littered the floor. "The _book_ wasn't yours. You didn't even leave the Ministry on your own, did you? Oliver Wood had to help you."

"Well, if you—"

"I don't know _what_ everyone finds so intriguing about you. You're nothing special, are you? Just a common, Muggle-born, _nobody_."

It was done—_he'd_ done it, against the warning of every rational bone in his body, and now there was no way to take it back. She stared at him for almost a minute, then silently turned on her heel and stalked into her office, closing the door rather forcefully behind her.

He pretended he hadn't seen the tears in her eyes.

* * *

"I want to sleep in his room," Harry had said, almost immediately upon his arrival at number twelve, Grimmauld Place in the late summer. Then he'd looked up at Remus. "If—I mean, if that's all right by you."

And it was; Remus only slept there once or twice a week, and even then, he didn't actually sleep. He'd taken to sleeping in his own room, at first alone, and then with Tonks, who'd been at his beck and call since Sirius had died.

If he'd been a different man, he would have found a shattered sort of comfort in the arms of someone new each night. But he wasn't a different man, and even if he had been, he was hardly in the position to bring _anyone _home, not to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

But Tonks…Tonks was a new woman each night, at least in appearance. And so he could deceive himself believe he wasn't growing attached to one person in particular, although he knew that was entirely false. He _had_ grown attached to Tonks, as a friend and a lover, because while her appearance continually changed, _she_ remained the same.

"You miss him, Remus," she whispered one night. "Don't you?"

"We all miss him," he murmured, and it was more truth than not; everyone on earth missed Sirius Black, in some way. "I suppose I should miss him most of all because…"

"Because of what he was to you?" she asked quietly. "I have people like that, you know. I think we all do."

"We don't all have people like Sirius. We don't all have people as wonderful and terrible as he is—was," he corrected quickly. "We don't all—"

"Shh," she whispered, pressing her fingers to his lips. "You don't need to—"

"But I do," he said, just a bit louder. "I need to talk about it. And I need to talk to _you_. You're the only one who cares to hear."

Actually, he could argue that even _she_ didn't care to hear, but she was the only one who would listen. And listen she did, as he poured out his feelings for Sirius, his love for the man and hatred for the things he did, his confusion at the jealousy and bitterness Sirius had shown in those last few months—and then, when he thought he had nothing else left, up came the vitriol he'd thrown at the defenseless Penelope.

Tonks didn't judge him, didn't try to fix him, because he didn't need that. She just sat and listened, wiped away the tears he didn't know he'd cried, and held him when he could no longer support himself. She let him pour out his heart and soul, his troubles and worries, and never once commented on what she heard.

When he finally fell silent, she pushed him down onto the pillows, and then she let him pull her down beside him. It wasn't until he was almost asleep that he realized she'd changed her short pink hair to long dark ringlets.

That night he dreamed of ravens, and books, and a girl with a dazzling smile. He awoke the next morning, after his first full night's sleep in months, with his face pressed into a mass of dark curls. For a second, his heart leapt, but then came the realization that it wasn't sage he smelled, but lavender.

It was the first time since Sirius died that waking up was a disappointment.


	9. Sword and Shield

"You've been spending too much time here," Roger had said the night before Halloween. "Come in late tomorrow, if you come in at all."

There was no way Penelope would consent to miss a day of work, of course, but Roger had repeated that under no circumstances was she to arrive at Dust and Mildewe before mid-afternoon. She couldn't very well defy him, then face him at work that day, so she lounged around the flat until early afternoon, then headed out to Diagon Alley.

It was a rule, it seemed, that she couldn't visit Diagon Alley without seeing someone she knew, so it was no surprise when she ran into Oliver Wood outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies. To be fair, it was a surprise to literally collide with him, but actually _seeing_ him, still glowing after a practice with Puddlemere United, was less of a surprise than a pleasure.

"Sorry, love," he said, catching her by the shoulders. "I didn't see you there. What are you doing out and about on a Thursday afternoon?"

"Roger wouldn't let me come in early today," she grumbled. "Says I've been spending too much time at work."

"Davies is a smart bloke. I wouldn't let you work yourself to death, either." He grinned and extended his arm to her. "While you're in exile from Dust and Mildewe, what say we have some ice cream?"

So they had ice cream together, just as they did every other Sunday, sharing a banana split outside of Florean Fortescue's. Halfway through the scoop of peanut butter ice cream Oliver had insisted on, he decided that he wanted to be involved in the paper. "Why should you and Davies have all the fun? Just because I'm a Quidditch player, that doesn't mean I can't be of use to you."

"You haven't been of use to us since we started," she reminded him, in the syrupy polite tone she'd taken to using when Professor Snape stopped by the Dust and Mildewe offices.

"You've only been in print for three months," he reminded her, in the same tone.

Oliver wasn't about to be talked down, and Penelope had no _real_ objections to letting him become involved with the paper, so she let him walk her down to Dust and Mildewe, once they'd finished the ice cream.

"Quiet down here, isn't it?" Oliver mused, and she had to agree, although that wasn't cause for immediate suspicion; she'd entered through the main door of Dust and Mildewe all of three times in the year she'd worked there. So she shrugged off the mild suspicion and led Oliver into the publishing house.

What happened next, she wouldn't remember until much later. And in the present, she didn't process it at once; she was only aware of Oliver's frantic instructions to go to her office, which she did immediately.

Apparition had always been particularly easy for her, and in retrospect, that was a good thing; she missed three separate curses when she Disapparated from the ground floor. On her upper-level office, through the door she hadn't thought to close, she got her first real view of the chaos below her.

At least ten Death Eaters, possibly more, had descended upon Dust and Mildewe, throwing curses right and left at employees, visitors, and even the presses themselves. There was Landon Davies, dodging a jet of red light; and Roger, defending himself against two larger Death Eaters; and Oliver, running pell-mell into the fray, wand drawn. He went down almost immediately, the Stunning Spell thankfully sending him out of the path of the Avada Kedavra that immediately followed.

After that, everything just became a blur of movement, and Penelope found herself conscious of very little, except the fact that her closest friends were in mortal danger. She was conscious of _so_ little, in fact, that she didn't notice she'd drawn her wand until she was halfway down the stairs, curses and spells flying at every enemy within striking distance.

Roger met her at the landing. "What do you think you're _doing_?" he yelled, dodging a Stunning Spell. "You could get yourself killed!"

"So could you," she replied, "and I'm not about to sit back and _watch_."

The Cruciatus Curse hit her at just that moment, and then there was nothing but red-hot pain, drowning out everything but the faint sounds of someone shouting near her—or perhaps that was herself, screaming.

Then as quickly as it had started, it stopped. Penelope dragged her shaking body back onto the landing, where Roger still stood, wand arm frozen in midair as he stared down at the body at the foot of the stairs. "I…didn't mean to…"

She didn't hear the Avada Kedavra, but she felt it in the air; odd, how she could feel this curse when she'd never felt one in her life, and odder still that time seemed to slow down as the jet of green light hurtled toward her. It crawled closer and closer, almost like it was underwater, but then _she_ was underwater, too, and she couldn't move out of its way, nor could she stop Roger's form as it dove in front of her, screaming something that she couldn't quite make out.

Then the jet of light hit his stomach, and Penelope gasped as Roger's body flew back against her chest, knocking her backward onto the stairs. Her head collided with the sharp edge of a stair, and starbursts exploded across her eyes, and she couldn't have dragged herself to her feet if she'd wanted to.

Odds were, she wouldn't make it out alive, either way. Best to just succumb to the inevitable now, she figured, as the chaos around her faded to black.

* * *

"They've taken the _Informer_," Kingsley Shacklebolt said, through the kitchen fireplace of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Remus felt his heart leap into his throat. "The Aurors have done what they can, but it's not enough."

Remus, for the first time since Sirius's death, was genuinely glad the full moon had just passed. He couldn't possibly sit by and let the _Informer_ crumble, and Dust and Mildewe's innocent staff suffer along with the rest, even when Tonks said, "I think you should stay here, Remus."

"There is absolutely no way—"

"Thought you'd say that," she said softly, almost dully. "What are you waiting for, then? Go find her, and bring her back."

It wasn't until later that he realized exactly what she'd said, and more importantly, what she'd _meant_ by it. He couldn't think about it then, anyway, because the instant he Apparated into Dust and Mildewe, he couldn't focus on anything other than the destruction before him.

"Bloody hell," Bill Weasley murmured as he appeared beside Remus. "Are there any survivors?"

As if in answer to the question, Kingsley Shacklebolt ran by with a young man slung over his shoulder. Remus recognized him as Oliver Wood, but it didn't occur to him that there was something strange about his presence in Dust and Mildewe until Oliver murmured something about Penelope. And even then, he didn't waste his time thinking about Oliver Wood when Penelope was still somewhere in the wreckage.

There, crouched on the staircase leading up to the printing presses, was Penelope. He could see her trembling from across the room, her eyes wide and unfocused, staring in the general direction of the carnage below her as she clutched Roger Davies' limp body to her chest.

He left Bill behind, picking his way through the destruction to the foot of the staircase. "Penelope?" His hoarse voice rattled in his ears, and he cleared his throat before trying again. "Penelope?"

She looked down, her eyes finally focusing on him, and his heart sank as he saw the hollowness that had already settled there. "Remus." It was barely a whisper, and he realized with a start that she'd used his first name—and that he'd used hers, for that matter.

That realization was all he had time for before she was at the foot of the stairs, standing awkwardly in front of him. He chanced a smile, and she returned it weakly. "It's going to be all right, Penelope," he said, injecting his tone with as much false confidence as he could muster. For a moment, he almost believed himself.

Then she wobbled slightly, and he barely had time to slide an arm around her waist before her knees gave way, dropping her unceremoniously to the ground. Remus knelt with her, holding her trembling body tightly.

And he swore, in that moment, that he would give his life to protect this girl.


	10. Hopeless

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

"Is that it, then?" Penelope asked as they stepped into the house. "I can join the Order now?"

"I think you already have," Remus said quietly. "It's just none of us knew it."

None of them _had_ known it, but they should have. She'd proven her worth to the Order, many times over. And only now—when she'd risked everything and lost most of it, when she'd, when she'd offered her life to the Order's cause, when she was in mortal danger everywhere else—only now was she offered entrance into number twelve, Grimmauld Place. It wrenched his heart because she'd wanted to be part of the Order for so long, and now that she was, even _he_ had to question whether it had been worth it. She'd lost her boyfriend, her job, most of her friends. She'd lost her only source of comfort, her only sense of belonging, and what must have seemed her only chance at happiness. And yet there she was, bearing it all with a strength he didn't know she possessed, and ready to continue fighting.

She couldn't hold it in forever, he knew, and one day she'd break down. One day, the reality of all she'd experienced would fully sink in, and she'd collapse from the sheer horror of it all.

He couldn't stop it. He could only hope to be there when it happened.

* * *

The Order wasn't at all what Penelope had expected.

She hadn't meant to expect anything from it—she'd learned her lesson with the Ministry—but after hearing about the Order and working _with_ the Order for so long, it was hard _not_ to have expectations. And it wasn't a disappointment, at all; it was just different.

The attack on the _Informer_ had been the first outright attack—there'd been the Department of Mysteries that summer, of course, but that had been a different beast entirely—and the Order had reacted as everyone had expected, by stepping up their activity. Penelope worked almost exclusively inside the house, coordinating schedules and sifting through information; it was the same job Sirius had once had, Remus told her, but she'd accepted it with much more enthusiasm than he had, mostly because she didn't mind spending so much time in the house. Actually, with the exception of the Davies' funeral and a few visits to Dust and Mildewe—which usually weren't necessary, as Oliver's mother sent him most of Penelope's editing—she hadn't left the house at all.

But it wasn't lonely, by any means. The increase in the Order's activity meant that number twelve, Grimmauld Place was almost constantly filled with people. Arthur and Molly Weasley spent so much time at the house that Penelope was almost convinced they actually lived there; and Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Bill Weasley actually _did_ live there, although Kingsley threatened to move out every few days.

They rarely dined with fewer than eight people around the kitchen table, and conversation and laughter flowed freely, but it always seemed to Penelope that something was missing. Maybe it was a morale issue; maybe it was hard to keep spirits genuinely high when they'd seen so much destruction and lost so much ground. Maybe _she'd_ seen so much destruction that she now saw the world through different eyes. Or maybe those eyes weren't so different, after all; maybe it was that everyone else had begun to treat her differently.

Oliver didn't, but she saw so little of him—he'd stayed at the house for a few days following the attack on the paper, but he'd been back to Puddlemere United within the week. He returned for Order meetings and the odd visit to the house, but those visits were few and far between, especially when it seemed no one else could treat her like a normal, sane person.

"You don't have to be so _careful_ around me," she told Remus one day. "It's not as though I'm going to break."

"Perhaps not," he replied softly. Then he sighed. "Penelope, do you regret coming here?"

Before she could answer, Tonks appeared, and then it was impossible to have a conversation over the sound of interminable clumsiness—thuds and crashes that seemed to come from nowhere. It was impossible to have a conversation, anyway, because Tonks was always _there_, always attached to Remus like she'd been spellotaped to his robes.

Remus himself was nearly always attached to Penelope, but that was different; he'd pulled her out of the wreckage of Dust and Mildewe, after all, and his primary concern was for her safety and sanity. Tonks, meanwhile—well, Penelope wasn't entirely sure _what_ Tonks wanted. But wherever Penelope went, Remus went, and Tonks trailed along too, and it might have been comedic were she not _part_ of their bizarre parade.

"I _do_ care for you," Penelope," Tonks said one evening, as they helped Molly clear the dinner dishes. "And I don't blame Remus for being concerned about you. You're like a daughter to him, really, so it's understandable."

Penelope stared at her, any thought of a reply disappearing with the sound of a plate shattering on the floor. And for once, the plate hadn't slipped through Tonks's fingers, but through her own.

* * *

She'd been there just over a month when the tears finally fell.

When they did, it happened all at once. One moment she was standing calmly in the foyer, and the next, she was on her knees, sobbing bitterly, her forehead pressed against the cold stone floor. The tears fell not just for Roger, or her coworkers, or the _Informer_. They fell for Percy, and Oliver, and her career and dreams—for her past, present, and future.

"_Mudblood harlot!"_ the portrait of Mrs. Black screeched, as the curtains flew away from it, but Penelope didn't even process the words. _"Your filthy tears have no place in my house!"_

There was screaming, yes, and a flurry of activity around her, but Penelope couldn't force herself to care about that. Someone tugged gently at her arm, and she looked up to see a blur of pink that she assumed was Tonks, but then the tears obscured her vision again, and she slumped back to the floor.

Then a pair of arms encircled her, lifting her from the cold stones and holding her securely against a warm chest. She didn't know whose embrace it was, but it felt so safe that she could have stayed there forever, she thought lazily, as she finally let her eyes slide closed.

* * *

"What you have to remember, Remus," Arthur Weasley said, "is that—"

"_Mudblood harlot!"_

The unmistakable screeching of Mrs. Black's portrait made them both sprint into the foyer, and by the time they reached it, Molly had already Stunned the other portraits, and Mrs. Black had begun to scream about filthy tears.

Remus ran to the portrait immediately, almost tripping over the pile of robes on the floor, and gave a tremendous tug on the curtains. Then Arthur, suddenly beside him, grabbed the other side, and with great effort, they dragged the curtains closed. The screaming died away, and only then, when Arthur physically turned him around, did Remus realize that the pile of robes he'd almost tripped over was actually a person—Penelope, in fact, responding less than admirably to Tonks's attempts to pull her to her feet.

She'd finally broken down, he realized, and no sooner did that thought sink in than he ran to her, gently pushing Tonks aside as he bent down and lifted Penelope off the floor, holding her securely against his chest. "Remus, what are you _doing_?" Tonks hissed, glancing from Remus to the girl in his arms. "She can walk on her own."

Remus looked down at Penelope's limp form. "She's cried herself unconscious, Tonks. I think she'll need some help."

Tonks muttered something almost unintelligible about just what _type_ of help he'd give her, and while he caught the gist, he hardly thought it merited a comment. He glances down at Penelope again, shifted her weight slightly, and headed for the staircase.

"If you were waiting for the time to stop following her around like a lost puppy, and actually _show_ her what she means to you," Arthur murmured as he passed, "I think this is it."

Tonks huffed quietly and flounced up the stairs; Lupin heard a door slam as he reached the top of the staircase. She'd chosen an empty bedroom, he noticed with a sense of relief, as he stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind him.

Penelope didn't stir as he carefully undressed her and laid her to bed, and he couldn't help but think that this wasn't exactly the way he'd have chosen for her to first share his bed. As it was, there seemed very little _sharing_ in his immediate future; he was destined for a night spent awake, sitting beside the bed and watching her sleep.

Then a quiet sob escaped her throat, and she clutched at the pillow, and he'd shed his robes and jumped into bed beside her before he even had an opportunity to consider the pros and cons.

If there _were_ any cons, they disappeared the instant she relaxed against his chest. He was a lost cause when it came to Penelope, it seemed, but at least there was hope left for her.

And if there was hope left for Penelope, then maybe, just maybe, there was hope left for him.


	11. Effortlessly

Penelope woke up in a bed she didn't recognize, in the arms of someone at once foreign and familiar.

She hadn't felt safe since the attack on the paper, but it seemed to her that if she just stayed here a bit longer, then she _would_ feel safe. And maybe then she'd feel whole again.

She didn't know quite when she drifted off to sleep, but the next time she woke up, he was gone—and she was famished. She rolled out of bed, struggled into the robes left in a heap on the floor, and stumbled downstairs to find something to eat.

Molly Weasley was at the stove already, talking to someone at the table, and she greeted Penelope with a sympathetic smile before she turned to crack an egg into the frying pan. She froze in mid-crack and slowly turned her head to stare at Penelope. "Penelope, love," she asked softly, "why in Merlin's name are you wearing Remus's robes?"

It wasn't until that moment that Penelope realized that the other person in the kitchen was Tonks. She cautiously met the other woman's eyes over the table, and her stomach dropped to her feet as it became all too clear that Tonks already knew.

Suddenly, she didn't feel quite so hungry.

Tonks stared at her for just a second longer, then stood abruptly and rushed out of the kitchen. Penelope just barely reacted in time to move with her. "Tonks, wait!"

"I don't want to talk about it, Penelope," she snapped, straightening her robes and abruptly changing her hair to bright blue. "I'm late for work."

Penelope pulled her own robes—Remus's robes, she reminded herself—more tightly around her. "You've been late to work all of three times since you became an Auror. I'm sure they'll overlook this once."

"And I'm supposed to put my life on hold while you tell me why you shagged Remus?"

It had made sense at one point, but as she stared at Tonks, Penelope realized that it didn't make sense at all. "No," she said softly. "I didn't _shag_ him, Tonks, and that's not the point, anyway. If you have to go, then go. We'll talk later."

"Or never," Tonks corrected, and then she grew three inches. "He doesn't love you. Not like that."

"I think he loves me more than you ever did," Penelope said, and those words were easier than anything else she'd said. Maybe because they were true, absolutely true, and she believed them with all her heart. "You should probably go."

"I should." And she stepped outside and Disapparated, leaving Penelope standing in the doorway of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, alone, confused, and feeling as though she'd just done something awful.

* * *

"I'd give my life for her," Remus said, not bothering to lower his voice, because he didn't care who heard it. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, Severus."

Snape blinked slowly. "You _do_ realize we're discussing Potter?"

"We _were_ discussing Harry. Now we're discussing the Order."

Penelope hardly qualified as the entire Order, and he knew it. And so, it seemed, did Snape. "She's a distraction, Lupin. You know as well as I that distractions cannot be tolerated."

Remus could have argued that Sirius had been a distraction, and that Tonks _was_ a distraction, but that seemed beside the point. He didn't have time to argue, anyway, before Snape eyed him critically and said, "How would you handle it, anyway? How would _she_ handle it?"

It was about more than loss, and grief, and finding comfort in each other's arms. It was about their histories, and their ages, and the very real fact that he became a werewolf once a month. "I don't know," he replied honestly. "But I know that I'd be willing to try."

"And so would she. That much is obvious, just in the way she looks at you." Snape barely let that sentence rest before he cleared his throat. "This isn't the _Daily Prophet_ advice column, Lupin, and I _do_ have classes to teach. I'll bring your Wolfsbane when it's ready. Now, if you'll excuse me…" And he swept from the office without so much as a glance behind.

Remus followed more slowly, making his way out of the Potions classroom and past the first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws who'd begun to file in, and who stared at him with wide eyes as he trudged past them.

If he's been thinking clearly, he might have visited Dumbledore next—if only because there was hardly a point visiting Hogwarts _without_ visiting Dumbledore—but by the time that thought appeared in his mind, he was already in Hogsmeade. It was just as well, he decided; he wouldn't have been able to concentrate, anyway.

Number twelve, Grimmauld Place was almost silent when he arrived, which he'd expected. The house was quietest at midday, if only because most of the Order had jobs that permitted them precious little downtime, but he'd almost never found himself the only person there. And even today, even in that silence, he wasn't alone.

He found them in the kitchen, Penelope standing beside Molly at the stove, heads tilting toward each other as they spoke in low tones. He stood there for a few seconds, just watching them, and before he could decide whether to announce his presence or slip away unnoticed, Penelope turned. And beamed at him. "Remus," she said softly. "I didn't expect you back so soon."

He shrugged, mostly because he didn't know quite what to do. "It's almost twelve, isn't it? Just in time for lunch."

She nodded. "I suppose you'll be joining us, then?"

"Us?" Molly spoke up, laughing. "I have work to do, dear. You and Remus are on your own for lunch." She hung her apron on a peg on the wall and bustled out of the kitchen, brushing past Remus. He was sure he saw her wink at him.

"Well," he said, as Molly's footsteps faded away, "should we stay in, or would you rather go out?"

Penelope cast her vote to stay in, so they dined on cold sandwiches at the kitchen table. Remus had always been rather a fan of sandwiches, and he took special pride in his own creations. And not for nothing, as Penelope seemed to be enjoying the sandwich he'd made for her.

"Tonks hates me," she announced, halfway through lunch, and he looked up at her, eyebrows raised slightly. She shrugged, in response to his unasked question. "I suppose it might have something to do with the fact that I came down to breakfast in your robes."

He couldn't stop the hint of a smile from playing on his lips. "You what?"

"Well, if you hadn't left your robes on the floor, I wouldn't have taken them for mine when I woke up. Why _were_ they on the floor?"

"That's a long story, actually. But the short of it is that I couldn't stand to watch you reach out for someone who wasn't there."

Penelope nodded slowly and returned to her sandwich. He attempted to do the same, with little success. "You know, you'll have to leave this house sometime," he said, after a few minutes of silence. "I don't mean permanently, by any means. But you've hardly seen daylight since you got here."

She swallowed the last bite of crust and looked up to meet his gaze. "I thought I was only supposed to leave when I absolutely _had_ to."

"Well, you were, at first. But now…" He shrugged. "Anyway, that never stopped Sirius."

"Well, I'm not bloody Sirius, am I?" she snapped.

"I never said you were."

"No but you just compared me to him, didn't you?" She sighed and raked a hand back through her curls. "Honestly, Remus, if you want someone like Sirius, you shouldn't have invited _me_ into your bed."

"I don't want someone like Sirius," he said softly. She blinked, silently urging him to elaborate. "I want someone like _you_. You might be the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I honestly can't believe I didn't fall in love with you before now."

"You—_what_?" Penelope, who'd started to stand up from the table, stopped so abruptly that she lost her balance and toppled right over the bench behind her, landing in a considerably undignified heap on the floor. She sat up, blinking at him through the curls that had fallen over her face. "Remus, did you…?"

"Say that I love you?" he finished, after she trailed off. "I suppose I did."

"Oh," she said quietly. Then he could almost _see_ the gears turning in her head, and her mouth dropped open slightly. "_Oh_. Well. I…"

So he'd upset her, it seemed. His face grew hot, and suddenly he could no longer meet her gaze. "You don't have to—"

"I love you, too."

Remus didn't know exactly when he'd risen, but suddenly he was on his feet, staring down at the girl across the table. Penelope beamed up at him, and suddenly the table was far too long, and the only logical course of action was to climb right over the top of the table and fall to his knees in front of her. His fingers brushed over her cheeks, smooth under his rough skin, and she leaned up just far enough to brush her lips against his.

He hadn't expected a simple kiss to be so…well, _simple_. They lived in a world where they risked their lives nearly every day, and everything—love and hate, life and death, joy and sorrow—was on the grand scale, where nothing was ever easy or effortless or uncomplicated. But this was a simple purity he hadn't known in years, if he'd ever known it at all.

And were there any way he could make this moment last forever, he'd have jumped at the chance.


	12. Once Again

A week later, Tonks hadn't said a word to Penelope.

She'd spoken to Remus, though, which Penelope found dreadfully unfair. "I think you should talk to her," Remus said, when she mentioned it to him. "You can't expect her to do all the work, can you?"

"Is it _work_ to pretend that I don't exist?" she grumbled. But in the end she admitted that Remus was right; she _did_ need to talk to Tonks.

Penelope found her in the kitchen one evening, bent over some reports that must have been for the Ministry. "Can we talk?" Tonks didn't reply, even after a few seconds, so she just sighed and jumped right in. "Look, I don't want you to hate me."

Tonks didn't look up. "I don't hate you, Penelope. But do I have to be your best friend, now?" She sighed heavily. "I just don't have the energy for this."

Penelope didn't much care _what_ Tonks had the energy for; that was just a weak excuse, and anyway, this was more important. "Did you love him?"

"Still do," she murmured. "I probably always will."

"Did you, when you and I were…?"

Tonks nodded. "I did. But when it comes down to it, so did you. I suppose that's why we got on so well."

Penelope resisted the urge to mention that they hadn't got on very well at all, since she'd really only been a replacement for Remus. In all honesty, though, Tonks had been the same thing to her, and it probably _was_ why they'd got on so well at the beginning. "I suppose so," she said softly. "I'm sorry if I—"

"It's not your fault," she interrupted, her tone far gentler than Penelope had expected. "I should really know better by now. Aurors aren't supposed to be so naïve."

"If you're looking for sympathy, you won't find it from me." She hadn't meant it with any venom, and although it sounded harsh in her own ears, Tonks didn't seem to pick up on it. "I know you, Tonks, and I know you're not naïve. And so does Remus."

"We could do without bringing Remus' opinions into this, I think," Tonks muttered.

"Fair enough. But I thought you should know that we don't think any less of you for…well, for anything."

"And I think _you_ should know that he's a werewolf," Tonks shot back.

Penelope blinked. "Is there anyone who doesn't already know that?"

She sighed. "You know what I mean, Penelope."

Actually, Penelope _didn't_ know what she meant—and judging by the way Tonks had bent over her parchment again, there wouldn't be a point in asking her to elaborate. She was lucky enough to have survived a simple conversation, she decided, as she attempted to sneak away unnoticed.

"You're lucky to have each other, you know. Do me a favor and try to remember that."

Penelope, who'd turned around the instant Tonks spoke, stared at the other woman for a few seconds before she smiled hesitantly. Thankfully, Tonks did the same, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Thank you," she murmured. "I hope I never forget it."

* * *

"So you and Tonks are speaking again?" Remus asked later that night, as they lay in bed. Actually, just _he_ lay in bed; Penelope was still bustling about the room, not having slowed down enough to even _think_ about sleeping, it seemed. "Looked like you'd almost made up, earlier."

"Well, I don't know about _that_, it's certainly a start," Penelope replied, as she combed her wet hair in front of the mirror. "I think she's still a bit hurt, but she'll get past that."

"Of course she will," he said. "We all do, sooner or later."

Penelope nodded, then turned from the mirror and grinned at him. "Oh, and she thinks it's important that I know you're a werewolf."

Remus didn't laugh, but he couldn't help smiling. "Have you somehow managed to miss that fact for three years?"

"Apparently so." She walked the few steps to the bed and sat beside him, looking down at her folded hands. "I think she's right, though—I mean, in making me think about it. Don't you?"

"Possibly," he murmured, privately wishing he didn't have to have this conversation. "I know we haven't discussed the reality of the situation, but the reality _is_ that once a month, I become a werewolf. And if that frightens you—"

"I wouldn't be here now, if it did," she interrupted softly, inching a bit closer as she looked up at him. "I just thought—well, it's an important issue, isn't it?"

He smiled wryly. "Too important, sometimes. I wish I could give you a normal relationship, but…"

"You told me once that there _were_ no normal relationships."

"Well, I was right," he said, giving her a genuine smile this time. "This one's just a bit less normal than most."

* * *

That Saturday, Oliver turned up at number twelve, Grimmauld Place and somehow managed to convince Penelope to accompany him to Hogsmeade. Next to Remus, there was no one she'd rather have as an escort, so her first _real_ trip outside since the attack wasn't nearly as frightening as she'd expected.

"So," he said, over red currant rum at the Three Broomsticks, "Remus Lupin, eh? Can't say I'm the least bit surprised about that."

"You wouldn't be," she muttered. "Haven't you been on about this for months?"

He laughed. "I'm smarter than you give me credit for. There's more than just Quidditch in this brain, if you can believe it."

"Of course I can believe it, you prat."

"And now that we've got the obligatory name-calling out of the way…" His smile faded as he gazed at her. "Are you serious about this, Penelope?"

"Of course I'm serious," she replied. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He shrugged. "Well, aside from the obvious—"

"You mean that he's a werewolf?" she asked, taking care to keep her voice down. "That's the least of my concerns, Oliver. And yes, we've discussed it," she added, seeing the question already beginning to form on his lips. "We decided—_I_ decided—that the benefits outweigh the risk."

"Do your parents know?"

"What is this, the bloody inquisition?" She sighed. "They know what they need to know." Truth be told, she hadn't had much contact with her parents since before the attack on the _Informer_. But they hadn't made much effort with her, either. "I'll visit them for Christmas, anyway, so I suppose I'll tell them then."

"I thought you and Lupin would—"

"Full moon's Christmas Eve," she reminded him, and he nodded soberly. "I'm spending the night with my parents, and Christmas morning, so if it goes the way I expect…"

"If all goes the way you expect, you'll be back for lunch with us," he said. She hadn't known he'd planned to be there, and apparently it showed on her face, because he continued almost immediately. "Mum thinks I should avoid the family celebration this year, so it looks like I'm stuck with you lot." But he grinned as he spoke, so it clearly wasn't _all_ bad. "D'you think Lupin will make it out, or…?"

"I don't think so," she replied. "He's not planning on it, so there's no point in expecting otherwise, is there?" She laughed softly. "I told him it's an awful way to spend our first Christmas together, but if it's a choice between him and Christmas…"

Oliver shook his head, smiling bemusedly. "You really _are_ in love, aren't you?"

* * *

Christmas approached faster than Penelope had expected, and before she knew it, she found herself lying in bed the night before Christmas Eve, with Remus asleep beside her. He'd fallen asleep almost immediately, but she hadn't even been able to close her eyes—probably because she was a bit nervous about visiting her parents in the morning, she decided. She reached out and ran her fingers lightly over Remus's cheek; he stirred but didn't awaken, and she slid silently out of bed.

Once again, Remus's robes were the only ones she could find, and she slipped into them without a second thought. No one would be awake at that hour anyway, she decided, padding in bare feet downstairs to the kitchen.

And no one _was_ awake, thankfully, so she quietly fixed herself a cup of hot chocolate and sat at the dark table. The first sip sent a calming warmth all the way down to her toes, and she sighed softly.

"Penelope?"

Her gaze snapped up and fell almost immediately on the boy in the doorway. "Harry. Did I wake you?"

"I couldn't sleep," he mumbled, sliding onto the bench across from her. "Is that hot chocolate?"

"Yeah. Would you like some?"

He nodded, and she busied herself making the drink, every now and then casting a glance in his direction. He looked older, less carefree than the child she'd known not so long ago. But she supposed that was to be expected, given everything he'd had to endure.

"Thanks," he murmured, as she set a steaming mug down in front of him. A second's pause, and then, "So you and Lupin are…?"

Penelope nodded. "I hope that's all right by you."

"Would it matter if it wasn't?"

"I think it would," she said softly. "You know how much Remus cares for you, Harry. He wouldn't want to do anything that made you uncomfortable—and neither would I."

"But you hardly know me. Why would you—"

"I know how it feels to lose someone you love," she interrupted gently, and he seemed to accept that. He didn't object, at least. "If there's ever anything that concerns you—"

"I know," Harry said shortly. He sipped his hot chocolate. "I'll be fine."

"I'm glad to hear that." Penelope looked down at her mug, feeling a bit like a wicked stepmother. Or a wicked _something_, at least. But then she raised her eyes a bit, and he smiled weakly at her—and it didn't seem quite so awkward.

They sat in silence for a while, slowly sipping their hot chocolate, until soft footsteps on the stairs made Penelope look up. Remus smiled tiredly as he reached the last step, then looked at Harry just as the boy turned around. "Hello, Harry. Trouble sleeping?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll be all right. Penelope made me hot chocolate."

"Consider yourself lucky. I don't think she's ever made hot chocolate for me."

"But you don't _like_ hot chocolate," she protested, as he took the seat beside her on the bench, not so subtly brushing his shoulder against hers.

"A minor detail. And I really don't see what that has to do with it." He took the mug from her hands and drank deeply, then pulled a face. "On second thought, I much prefer my chocolate in solid form. Must be my old age."

"You're not old!" Penelope exclaimed, and Harry echoed the sentiment. Penelope glanced at the boy, only to find him grinning shyly back at her; she smiled at him and swallowed the last of her hot chocolate. "Well, I suppose it's time I went back to bed," she said, barely pushing the words past the yawn that had suddenly consumed her. "I'll see you in the morning, Harry?"

"Yeah," he murmured. "Goodnight."

Her footsteps had hardly died away before Remus spoke. "Harry, I—"

"No," Harry interrupted. "No, it's all right. _She's_ all right."

"She's not Sirius."

"You think I don't _know _that?" He drained the last drops of hot chocolate from his mug and pushed it aside, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Of course she's not Sirius; no one's ever going to be Sirius. And if she makes you happy, that's your business, not mine. But I like her, all the same."

If he sounded irritated, that was probably only because it was late—and he'd already been over it in some form with Penelope, Remus decided. He picked up the mugs and carried them to the sink. "I'm glad you're all right with this, Harry," he said, as he turned around. "I'd hate to think what might have happened if you weren't."

"So would I," said Harry. "I think she might love you."

Remus smiled. "I think I might love her, too."

* * *

Christmas dawned cold and clear, and Penelope, who'd told her parents about Remus the night before and had received a rather chilly response, barely stayed through breakfast before she wished them a happy holiday and returned to number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The house was already alive with chatter and laughter, and Molly welcomed her immediately with an embrace that almost brought tears to her eyes. "I'm glad you're home, dear. Did you have breakfast with your parents? We've just finished, but if you're hungry…"

"Oh, thank you, but I ate with my parents," she replied. Actually, she hadn't so much eaten as stared uncomfortably at her plate for the duration of the meal, but Molly didn't need to know that. "I'm looking forward to lunch, though."

Everyone was looking forward to lunch, and with good reason; as more guests arrived, the atmosphere became even more festive, and for a few hours, it was almost as though they'd managed to erase the war altogether. Even Harry, who probably had the least to celebrate, spent the day in high spirits—outwardly, at least.

Penelope was sure he felt the twinges of sadness similar to the ones that struck her every now and then, and once, when he caught her eye over the crowd and smiled sadly, she was absolutely certain of it. Of course, when she looked more closely, she could see the sadness in everyone's smiles, but there was hardly a point in focusing on that, not when everyone else was striving so hard to make this a joyful holiday.

"Are you going to see him?" Tonks asked, as the festivities began to wind down in the early evening.

Penelope shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it, actually." That didn't mean she hadn't thought about _Remus_, of course; she just hadn't expected that he might want her to visit so soon. "Do you think I should?"

"Only if you want to. But no matter what Remus tells you, he doesn't like to be alone afterwards." She grinned, and it almost looked natural. "Only reason I'm telling you is because it's Christmas, of course."

"Of course," Penelope replied. Then, before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and threw her arms around Tonks's neck. "Thank you."

Tonks stiffened at first, but then she relaxed and hesitantly returned the embrace. "You're welcome," she whispered. "Take good care of him, Penelope."

There were a million things she could have said—a hundred things she probably _should_ have said, but at that moment, as she pulled back and saw Tonks smiling through the tears in her eyes, there didn't seem to be any point. So she just smiled and nodded, and Tonks sniffled a little, and Penelope knew they'd said everything they needed to.

Now the only thing she _really_ needed was Remus.

* * *

Remus had been asleep for most of the day, and even when he'd been awake, he'd been too exhausted to do anything other than yawn and spend a few seconds listening to the cheerful voices downstairs before falling asleep again. It was the same every full moon, the sheer exhaustion of it all, and if it hadn't been Christmas he wouldn't have given a moment's attention to the voices. But it _was_ Christmas, so he listened—not with any envy, since it was his own choice to remain in bed, but rather with a tired sort of happiness that they'd all managed to remain so cheerful.

It wasn't until evening—at least, he assumed it was evening, due to the low volume of voices in the rest of the house—that he thought he heard the door open and close again. He blinked and gazed through bleary eyes at the door, and—yes, there was a blur moving toward him in the darkness. "Penelope?"

She didn't reply, and for a moment he thought he'd imagined it all, but then he felt a gentle hand slide down his cheek, and her lips on his a second later. "I didn't mean to wake you," she said softly.

"You didn't," he lied, but he could feel her disbelieving gaze even in the darkness. "Well, you _did_, actually, but I've been sleeping all day. It's time I woke up."

"It's time you went back to sleep, you mean." She drew away from him, and he would have reached out for her if he'd had the energy to do so. But then he heard her robes fall to the floor, and a second later she slid into bed beside him. "We missed you today."

He yawned. "You enjoyed yourselves, from what I could hear."

"We did. But we missed you." He felt a hesitant hand slide over his shoulder, and then her head was against his chest, her hair falling everywhere. He inhaled deeply and smiled at the familiar scent of sage. "_I_ missed you," she whispered.

"And I missed you," he replied softly. It took all the energy he could muster to slip his arms around her, but it was worth it just to have her sigh softly and press her body even more tightly to his. "Happy Christmas, Penelope."

He could hear her smile, even in the darkness. "Happy Christmas, Remus."


End file.
